March Wind

Ho, March wind! Why blow so hard?

Why try to scour each street and yard?

Why swish through trees till the limbs bow down

And men chase their hats and grumble and frown?

Why, March wind, do you swish the eaves

And tug at each remnant of fallen leaves

And whistle through belfries and towers up high

And race with clouds across the sky?

Why must you bluster and sweep so clean

That banners billow and fence posts lean?

Why rattle the signs and blow dogs’ hair

And force your fierce breath everywhere?

“Why? April’s coming! I swish and blow

And whistle and scour and rush and flow

And brush all things to make them neat,

To ready a path for April’s feet!”